His Redemption
by The Seraph
Summary: When an old friend from his past returns as an angel, he finds himself being looked after by someone more childish than himself. Not only does she meddle in his love life, but has some demons of her own to get rid of. JohnAngela, maybe ChasOC
1. Of Introductions and New Beginnings

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His Redemption

Chapter I - Of Introductions and New Beginnings

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John and Angela had grown distant since their brush with the near end of the world and the beginning of hell on earth. Angela had her work, and John had his. It wasn't as if Angela could just pick up the phone and ask John out for a cup of coffee to relive the good times, as it were. Besides, she wasn't entirely sure if John had a phone. And if he did, he wasn't exactly the sort to pay his phone bill on time.

He knew he was being watched; he could feel it at every turn. He had expected it, after what he had done, what he had gotten away with. The influences came like an avalanche at first, but after the first month, with no effect on him, they slowed to a trickle. A slight push now and then, that was all. He could deflect them with ease, but it wasn't himself he worried for; he worried about her more than anything else.

The exorcist stood at his window, arms crossed, empty packet of gum in hand, as he looked out on the smoggy City of Angels at sunset. He chewed furiously, the sound oddly comforting. Midnite was all he had now, and even then, the witchdoctor was not the friendliest of fellows once he returned to his oath of neutrality. Even so, something was better than nothing. And he needed a drink.

He sighed, pulling his coat onto his shoulders, and left the apartment with the quiet of a cat. It was a moment before he realized the absence of the orange cab that was usually idling outside his apartment.

--

"Cat on a table," he growled roughly, sidestepping the beefy bouncer of Midnite's bar. He walked through the doorway, his steps heavy on the tiled floor. It was barely 8 o'clock when he arrived, so the bar was dead (if you would pardon the pun). There was only a single, slightly familiar figure at the bar, sitting with their back to them.

John sat down a few bar stools away from the figure, giving a single nod to the demonic bartender. A moment later the being set down a glass of vodka with a clang that scuffed the bar top. Without so much as a word, John picked up the glass, draining it quickly. "Another," he muttered, raising a hand to his temple.

"You know, John, trading cigarettes for vodka isn't the smartest idea," the figure said suddenly, causing John to jump and do a double-take. He narrowed his eyes, surveying the sudden source of a voice.

It was obviously a woman, and judging from the warm gold in her eyes, an angel. Her face looked oddly familiar and he stared for another moment. "Come now, Johnny, you're making me blush," she said with a soft laugh, reaching for her vibrant pink strawberry daiquiri. The flamboyant beverage clashed horribly with their surroundings and John began to smile.

"It's been a long time, Sally," he said, smirking to himself. With that drink, he could recognize her anywhere.

Sally nodded her head, taking a sip silently. It _had _been a long time. She had died more than ten years ago, brutally murdered by the man she used to work for, all at the age of eighteen. At least, that was the Sunday school version of the tale.

The angel had been living on the streets since she had run away from her life in London, a week before her thirteenth birthday. She turned to prostitution to support herself, and she ended up earning a good living. For her pimp, anyways. When she was sixteen she met John, a twenty-three year old considered crazy in all civilized circles who had all but abandoned his life. They helped each-other, leaned on each-other for support. She got him his first (and last) real job, helped him find his first (and last) apartment, and in return he got her off the streets. But Bobby Keno, her ex-pimp, didn't like losing his best girl. He tried to bring her back, and almost killed John in the process. When she refused, he killed her while she was out one night, walking her dog. He cut her slowly, and she was found a week after she was reported missing, stuffed into a gym locker at the local gym with Satanic scars all over her body.

"It has," she sighed. The angel was older now, wiser, but she still retained her youthful good looks and nature, and the wounds that had killed her were no where in sight. She could tell John was uncomfortable with her presence; he blamed himself for not being able to protect her. "I've been checking in on you."

He couldn't help but laugh, "Since when?"

"Since I got my wings."

"God," he mused, watching as the bartender poured him another glass of vodka. "Heaven must be pretty boring if you end up watching me all day."

At this she laughed. He remembered that laugh and it brought him to a genuine smile. "Chas says hello," she murmured, eyes glistening.

John started, looking at her quickly. His eyes lit, but his face showed no emotion. "You saw Chas?"

But she shook her head, "Only briefly. But you'll see him soon enough. He's on the fast track to earning his wings. I'd say you'll be hearing from him within the week." Sally watched him carefully, eyes narrowed slightly. She could tell he was happy, elated even. "I'm sure I'll be seeing more of him as well."

And the penny dropped. John raised an eyebrow, scrutinizing her, "You're the one who's been following me?" he breathed, his grip on his glass tightening. She smirked, crossing her legs playfully.

"What, were you expecting the Easter Bunny?" Sally snorted, twirling the neon green straw in her drink. "Johnny, I don't think you realize exactly what you've done."

John raised an eyebrow, almost bristling. "I get it fine, Sal," he fired back, "I saved the human race from literal hell on earth. I would have thought He'd be happy about that."

She only frowned, "John, you've been redeemed. Only an act of the ultimate sacrifice could warrant that for you," she nodded towards him, staring into his eyes.

"Thanks," he scoffed, taking another sip of vodka. "Thanks a lot."

"I'm serious." She unfurled her wings menacingly, eyes aglow. "_Lucifer, _not John Constantine,had the last laugh. He _wants _you, more than any other soul on Earth." Her voice softened and she got up, moving so that she was now seated directly next to him. "He's the _Devil_, John. You're going to need some serious help to keep your place in Heaven."

John smirked slowly and sat back, "I'm guessing that's why you're here? To keep me out of trouble?" he sneered, shaking his head. The man finished the glass of vodka, pushing it towards the bartender. He didn't reach for it again.

"Trust me, Johnny," she pleaded, laying a hand on his arm. The golden glow in her eyes was bright, "With Beeman and Hennessy gone, not to mention Chas, you're-!" but John stood abruptly, knocking over his barstool. He clenched and unclenched his fists, his eyes livid as he stared at the floor. Sally knew she had crossed a line, but she didn't care. He needed to understand this. "John, please."

"I don't need a babysitter," he spat, turning away. But Sally had one card left to play.

"I saw Angela," she called after him, rising from her stool. He froze, his back to her and she could see the cogs turning in his mind. "She's not doing well," Sally said softly, watching John crane his neck at her. "She's not coping with the influences quite as well as you have."

He was silent for a moment, eyes now on the floor, "Did she see you?" he breathed.

But Sally shook her head. "No," she muttered, "I think that would be too much for her right now." The angel looked down for a moment, thinking of what to say, "I've been trying to help her best I could but-," her voice broke and she paused. "She needs you, John. You need to go to her."

John didn't turn back around, letting her words sink his, his face the picture of agony. He didn't answer her and walked towards the door, leaving Sally alone in silence with only her daiquiri to comfort her. Once he was gone, Midnite let his door swing open and he peered out at the lone angel at the bar.

"I tried, Midnite," she sighed, taking a sip of her drink sadly. "He's changed."

Midnite grumbled for a moment in reply. "John Constantine doesn't take well to orders," he said slowly. "You'd better get out of here before my regulars show up," he added, now looking her in the eye.

She stood, nodding in agreement and in thanks. It was not like Midnite to be this generous. He had changed as well.

Once she was outside on the street, she could see John in the distance, heading not in the direction of his apartment, but Angela's. Sally couldn't help but smile, spreading her wings. This was better than Italian soap operas.

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Kind of random for me to post but whatever. Review!


	2. Beating Wings

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His Redemption

Chapter II - Beating Wings

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MUCH LOVE to my four reviewers! You're the best!

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The pavement felt hard beneath his feet as John walked the familiar route to Angela's. He had been making this journey almost everyday, only to stop at the corner across the street and turn back around. Her lights would be on, once he even saw her silhouette, but still he dare not cross the street. He sighed to himself, reaching the infamous street corner; tonight would be different. _She's not doing well._ Sally's words echoed in his mind and he shoved his hands into the pockets of his signature black trench, searching for something he knew damn well wouldn't be there. It had not been the best time for himto quit cigarettes. Instead, he popped a piece of stark white nicotine gum into his mouth, chewing hungrily until he felt his nerves settle.

However, he almost jumped when the door to Angela's building banged open, a figure running to the corner, waiting for the cross signal. He hurried across the street, catching the door before it closed, stealthily slipping inside. The man thought he heard the beat of heavy wings before the door shut soundly behind him.

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The building across the street was short, built circa 1950. Sally sat on the corner of the building, a story lower than Angela's apartment. Her wings were spread wide and her legs dangled over the edge. She let the evening breeze wash over her and felt herself smile when the lights in Angela's apartments suddenly went out and a dark silhouette drew the curtains. "Finally," Sally breathed, leaning straight back, eyes raised to the stars. It was times like these that she felt sorry for all she had missed.

It had been her first trip back and her first real assignment; the other angels had thought she wasn't up to the task, what with John's reputation and blatant disregard for anything that resembled an order and their history. Sometimes she wondered why she had been sent, why she had been chose. But He would give her no answer, having some unseen plan for her, as He did for everyone.

"So, you decided to speed things up a little?" a playful voice said, making her sit up quickly, breaking her thoughts. A boy who appeared to be about her age, maybe a little older (you never knew with angels), was standing beside her, his wings unfurled lazily.

"Hello, Chas," Sally replied, her greeting stiff. The two weren't really buddy-buddy; he had only approached her before she left to give her a message for John. A message she fully intended to deliver, but had found the 'timing' wasn't right.

Chas stooped, taking a seat next to her, "Did you tell him?" He had lowered his voice, though no one but her had a snowball's chance in hell of hearing them.

"No," she shot back with a smirk. Truly, she had forgotten what the message was.

He looked disgruntled at best, shooting her a glare and his face crumpling into a frown, "You forgot it, didn't you?" He shook his head, trying his best not to laugh. Sally only nodded her head, fighting a grin. "Jesus, Sally! Whatever, I'll be back tomorrow and I'll tell him myself."

"Good, John won't be so grumpy now that- wait, tomorrow?" she blanched, eyes wide. "Shit, that was fast. How the hell did you manage that?"

Chas grinned, "Well," he began, putting a hand on his chest, as if spewing a proclamation of love to himself. "I died fighting the devil, and," he sighed heavily, "it has to be said, that is practically grounds for sainthood." The boy's eyebrow quirked and his grin spread. "Saint Chas. Saint Chas Kramer. Saint Kramer-."

Sally let him mutter to himself about sainthood, smirking all the while. In all her years of watching John, she had managed to become 'acquainted' with Chas as well. He meant well, despite being a bit annoying like an overexcited puppy, but all his time studying really ended up paying off in the end.

"Chas, what was it like when you died?"

"Saint Kramer, asshole-," Chas looked up sharply, stopping in the middle of his new catchphrase, meeting her eyes. "What?"

"I mean, what did you feel? What did you see? All the angels said it's different for everyone and I was just wondering-?" she trailed off, looking hopeful. It seemed a trivial thing to be hopeful about, but she had a bit of an agenda.

It took Chas a minute to respond. "I saw John," he murmured, looking at his hands. "And then everything froze. An angel had come for me and she took my hand, dragging me upwards. It wasn't hot, but warm, you know, like spring?" His whole face turned pleasant as he spoke, reminiscing. "It was nice."

It was nice. Sally fought a biting retort rising in her throat. That British wit hadn't managed to be rubbed off by Heaven. _This boy need some vocabulary lessons._

Sally fought a biting retort rising in her throat. That British wit hadn't managed to be rubbed off by Heaven. 

Her own ascension was much darker. She had felt darkness - not seen, felt - and two forces pulling at her. Sally had wished to die again, they pulled so hard, making her feel as if she was being split in two. There was gold on her right, crimson on her left. And then there was white. The angels wouldn't tell her why she felt this, in fact, whenever she mentioned it they would look nervous and shy away.

"What about you?" Chas said after a moment, his eyes soft from the memory of Heaven.

"Me?" she replied softly, looking over to him. Her fierce eyes darkened and he felt himself draw back under her harsh gaze. "Same." Her voice was dull and flat, and obvious lie. But this was Chas; he wasn't about to figure that out too soon. "Minus the Constantine."

Chas laughed nervously. She a thrown him a bone, giving them both something to nervously laugh at and break the tension. His force smile faded quickly as the wind picked up, blowing air colder than any should be in Los Angeles into the two angels. "I've got to go," he sighed, turning his head into the wind. "I'm not even supposed to be here."

"Yeah," Sally nodded, feeling the wind wash over her. The white of her clothes stood out against the sharpening darkness. There was a single beat of wings and Chas was gone, only to return the next day.

"See you tomorrow."

--

Sally spent the night at Constantine's. His couch was shit but she'd survived worse. She woke up early, a little past six, and if she'd been human she would have been sure a few Advil would have been in order to kill whatever neck or back cramp she would have. John hadn't gotten back from Angela's yet. _Maybe this one will last_, Sally mused to herself.

They had an _interesting_ history, Sally and John. She was seventeen, John twenty-three, when they last saw each other. Though she didn't want to admit it, Sally had a bit of a schoolgirl crush on him. But ten years of watching had rid her of the annoying little habit; she never could have handled someone like John anyway. Too much weird shit for her taste. Angela, on the other hand, seemed more the part for John's one-and-only. If only he could manage to keep his hand out of the seductive-demon-cookie-jar long enough to get her to stay.

She snorted at that last one, shaking her head with a grin. Despite the years, thing hadn't changed. Even the apartment was the same. "Fuck, this place is dirty," she muttered, rising to her feet.

The angel brushed herself off; her clothing has changed during the night. The white pleated pants and loose Grecian top had been replaced with a long white tank and crimson pajama pants. It seemed someone upstairs had at least a soft spot for her.

She looked around, hands on her hips, surveying the room steadily. This would take some work.


	3. Hurt

His Redemption

Chapter III - Hurt

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Woot, reviewers rock! Hope you like, and sorry for the wait, softball just started up, plus New York and eww, just life in general. Enjoy!

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It was past noon when John began to make his way back to his apartment. He couldn't help but let a giddy smile rise to his lips and only his endearing will kept him from grinning like the idiot he really was. The L.A. sun rose high in the sky, beating down on him, making sweat bead on his brow. His long trench coat, shirt and pants didn't help much either.

The exorcist wasn't looking forward to returning to his apartment, thinking it empty and sweltering like the outdoors. Instead, he was incorrect on both counts; Sally was dancing around the kitchen, if you could call it that, dusting as she moved, and it was delightfully cool. An angel's touch, apparently.

"You're still here?" he groaned, rounding on the fridge as he shut the door. Sally smirked as she watched him peer, eyes narrowed, into the grimy refrigerator. Her smirk inflated when he groaned again. "What the hell did you do to my fridge?"

Sally looked down, biting her lip to keep from laughing. "Nothing," she chirped, trying to look busy cleaning the counter.

"Then where's my vodka? Or my beer? And what happened to the sauerkraut?" His voice grew as he listed each item and he slammed the fridge door angrily, making the appliance shudder.

She looked up sharply, hearing the anger tinge his voice. "Unless you've forgotten, a month ago you were dying. I don't intend to let you drink yourself into an early grave."

John grimaced, opening his mouth to respond, but Sally cut him off. "Not now, Johnny. You've got Angela to think about."

"Don't remind me," he muttered, sitting down in a heap at the table. John leaned forward, pressing his forehead against the cool surface of the table, letting it calm him.

"Here," Sally said softly, filling a surprisingly clean glass with water from the sink. She put it down next to him, but thought better of it, and raised the drink to her mouth, blowing softly. Frost spread like a spider web over the inside of the cup and chips of ice began to clink together. "Angelic perks."

John laughed and took the water gratefully, "Thanks, Sal."

"Anytime, Sparky."

He grinned, laughing to himself. Sally had her little quirks that always kept him on his toes, or, on rare occasion, smiling. Then his brow furrowed. "What about my sauerkraut?"

--

Angela glanced down at her watch, then over to the digital clock set in the dashboard of her Chevy anxiously. John had said six, and it was nearly seven. She didn't like to make anyone wait, let alone John. He had said it was important, and with John, it was only important if it was _really _important.

She knocked at the door, watching as the paint chips fell off the wood like a blizzard of moldy green. The lock clicked out of place and the door swung open. John smiled down at her, offering up that familiar, irresistible smirk, "Hey," he said softly, stepping aside so she could enter.

"Hi," Angela replied, tucking a strand of dark hair behind her ear shyly. They stood like that for a moment, frozen in the doorway of John's apartment, before Angela cleared her throat and stepped into the room, her arms crossed tightly in front of her. "So, what was it that-?"

The woman stopped short, spotting a figure sitting on the counter, legs swinging in a juvenile fashion. The person clasped a pink-tinged drink in a Starbucks cup in one hand, sucking at the beverage avidly through the spring green straw. John noticed Angela's sudden tensing and he put a warm hand on the small of her back. "Angie, this is Sally," he said slowly, watching her reaction.

"Hello," Angela said, her voice in it's characteristic low rasp of anxiety. She cleared her throat again, glancing warily at John. She wasn't stupid. This girl was young, pretty, and sitting in the middle of John's apartment while she was at work all day. "I'm Angela Dodson."

Sally only smiled brightly, trying to ease the tension. "I know all about you, Angela," she chuckled, and Angela immediately picked up on the rough British accent. She watched the other women's expression changed drastically and her face fell, "Don't worry, I'm not a demon or anything-."

"So she says," another voice laughed, and both John and Angela spun. Chas was standing behind them, grinning to himself. "John, Angela," he said, "Hey, Sally," he added, nodding over to the other angel.

John smiled wider than he had all day, but quickly suppressed it, giving Chas a quick but strong handshake. "Good to see you, kid," he said gruffly. Angela, on the other hand, forgot all about Sally for the moment and embraced the teen angel, smiling to him.

"I didn't know the angel thing happened so fast," she laughed, her eyes sparkling as she grinned.

Chas swelled with pride, puffing out his chest. "Well, it's different for us do-gooders, we get our wings quicker, while the regulars can take years." As he spoke, he stared (in good fun, of course) over at Sally. She only narrowed her eyes and made a face, sticking out her tongue at him.

Angela's attention was drawn back to the newcomer to their trio and she gazed at her. "So you're an angel?" she murmured, taking a step towards her.

Sally nodded, unfurling her wings for effect. "In the flesh," she said cheerfully, taking another sip of her drink.

But Angela wasn't finished. She stared at Sally for another moment, and the angel couldn't help but blush slightly. John and Chas exchanged looks and both shrugged. "You look familiar," Angela muttered. "I've seen you before."

It was John's turn to blush and he shifted uncomfortably. "It's probably nothing, you know-."

"Yeah," Sally jumped in, rubbing her arm, which had suddenly been covered in goosebumps, "I've just got one of those faces-." But Angela didn't stop.

"In the database. You're-," she paused and her eyes darkened, "You're one of the Arachnid murders. You're the last one." Sally's face suddenly paled and she slid off the counter top, her drink empty beside her. John scratched his head and Chas stared at his feet. None of them liked this subject.

Sally's eyes glazed and she looked away, "Yeah," she muttered. "But that was a long time ago, Angela. I try not to look back."

The L.A.P.D. detective was transfixed. The Arachnid was one of the few killers they never even had a suspect on; she had even written a paper on him at the Academy. And now, here was her chance to find out the truth, who the _real _Arachnid was. "Who was it?" she breathed, touching Sally on the shoulder, her eyes wide.

"Angie, I- I think that's enough," John said, taking her by the shoulders. "Sally doesn't-."

"Bobby Keno." Sally's voice was cold and sharp; so unlike her. Chas couldn't help but feel a twang of remorse for her. "He did it."

Angela's eyes were alight with a sleuthy fire now; she could be the one, _the _one to close the Arachnid case. "Bobby Keno?" she murmured, her brain buzzing. "The pimp?" Sally nodded, not facing Angela now. Both John and Chas knew where this was going.

"How would you get involved with him?"

At this, the angel smirked pointedly and laughed. "I was a prostitute, that's how." Angela immediately fell silent, shock stirring in her, and her jaw fell slightly agape. "Surprised, Detective?"

"Okay, I think we've had enough for one day," Chas sighed, stepping between the two women. John steered Angela away, pulling her by the shoulders, giving her a stern glance or two as she looked up at him questioningly.

Chas watched the other angel shake with the pain of the memories, her fingers running over her arms, remembering the scars they once bore. "After all these years-," she murmured.

He nodded in return. "It still hurts."

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	4. Murder Most Foul

**His Redemption**

**Chapter IV - Murder Most Foul**

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**Cookies! Yum! Hope you like! Now the plot really begins to heat up...

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Sally couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief when Angela's beeper had gone off midway through their Chinese takeout dinner (she and Chas did not have to partake in it, but Sally couldn't resist a bit of spare rib). The detective was a bit too inquisitive for her liking and she could tell that all through the meal the woman had been itching to ask her more about her murder. It was in her nature after all; she was a homicide detective, that's what they did.

Angela, once outside in the hall, relaxed as well. Something about Sally didn't sit right, like the angel wasn't telling them something, or John wasn't telling her something about her. It was awkward, sitting at the table with the two of them. Chas didn't say much, or, John and Sally didn't give him a moment to. The two of them were cracking jokes and remembering old times so long ago and so obscure she couldn't possibly relate; it was like going to the movies with two friends who've known each other forever, and you can't see to get a word in edgewise.

"Sorry about that," John murmured once the door was shut soundly behind Angela. "She didn't know what she was saying."

"It's alright, Johnny," Sally said around bites of spare rib, her eyes downcast. "I don't mind much." In truth, she minded a great deal, and didn't like being interrogated about what happened. No sane person would. Her eyes flitted across the table, wide and like liquid emerald, her auburn hair sleek and limp as she anxiously twisted a strand around her finger, eyes unfocused.

He could tell she wanted to get out of there, she wanted to leave, but John knew she wouldn't. It was her job, and he knew the second she set foot outside the building the influences would start again; just her presence kept most of them back. Chas could stave them off for a while, but he didn't have the experience, or stamina needed for this long of a job. "You want to go for a walk?" he said, watching her warily.

Without replying she stood up, smiling gratefully at him. Chas followed them out into the night air and the odd trio strolled down the cement sidewalk nonchalantly, as if nothing in the world was wrong, though they knew that statement could never be right.

"So, is Angela your girlfriend?" Sally said, fiddling with the hem of her sleeve. Her clothes had changed once she set foot outside John's door from the pajamas she had been in all day and now she wore a high-collared white top, frayed jean skirt, and high heels. She looked the part of an average, L.A. seventeen year-old girl.

John coughed, hesitating to answer. Sally smiled and gave him a nudge, "Well?"

"I'm not- I'm not exactly sure about that. We've haven't had time to talk about it much, I guess."

"Well you should. Angela's not one to be lead on, Johnny. She's not like the girls you usually 'date'." She did air quotes for emphasis and grinned as he narrowed his eyes at her, biting back a savage retort. Chas chuckled next to him, and the exorcist rounded on his former apprentice, eyes blazing.

"Shut up, Chas," he muttered, cuffing the angel gently. It didn't hurt physically, but hurt the boy's pride as it always did. Sally only laughed wildly, knowing John wouldn't dare touch her.

Chas grimaced and adjusted his paperboy cap that had been knocked askew, blushing furiously as Sally smirked at him. "No need to get physical, John," he muttered, scuffing his shoes as they continued walking.

The trio passed an electronics store, near closing time, with a display of televisions in the window, all tuned to the local news. A handful of people had congregated on the sidewalk, watching it lazily. It was too hot to move anyways.

John noticed the heat first and he paused in front of the store, a hand straying to his tight collar. Though Chas and Sally were angels, they were not blind to the elements, and the heat crept up their bodies, making them catch a last cool breath. It radiated off the store, as if someone had opened a giant oven and you were seated in front of it. The two angels stopped next to John, eyes fixed on the largest TV.

"…and in heavier news, word has just come of an apparent homicide in Long Beach. Ella Clayton, a correspondent for the British Broadcasting Channel, was found dead in the harbor. Her body was attached to a buoy and was discovered late this afternoon by Coast Guard. The BBC is set to issue a statement tomorrow…"

Sally's eyes were wide and her hands began to shake. John wrenched his eyes away from the program to see her, standing there, nearly ready to collapse. _Ella Clayton. What the hell does that mean to Sally? Why- oh, God._

"Sally, it might not be-."

"Chas, can you hold things down until I get back," she said roughly, her voice not mirroring everything she felt. Chas nodded slowly, looking from her to John, who only ran a hand through his hair.

"Good." She then unfolded her wings, and with a single beat, disappeared into the sky.

John watched her journey skyward, knowing damn well where she was going. "This isn't going to be good, Chas," he muttered, his body feeling heavy. No doubt this was the reason Angela was paged during dinner. He just hoped she had the sense to stay out of Sally's way.

"Ella Clayton," Chas echoed, furrowing his brow. Onscreen, a picture was shown of a smiling news correspondent in front of the Houses of Parliament. She bore a striking resemblance to Sally, though she was much older. "That was her sister, wasn't it?"

-

The flight to Long Beach didn't take more than a minute. Sally was desperately beating her wings, cutting through the night air like a hot knife through butter. She alighted near the shore, behind a parked squad car. The area in front of her was cut off by obnoxious yellow tape and she simply ducked under it, leaving the news reporters anxiously clicking their cameras and shouting questions to anyone who passed behind. The angel strode towards the congregation of police officers, detectives, and two coroners, willing her feet to move.

"Do you see these? What do you think? A cult?" one of the cops said, directing his words towards the nearest homicide detective. A certain detective named Angela Dodson. He pointed to something under the white sheet that was draped over the waterlogged body.

Angela shook her head. "No, not a cult. I've seen these before," she sighed, running a hand through her hair. Then her eyes widened, and a light bulb might have lit over her head if it was possible. "Somebody get me the Arachnid case file."

"What?" the officer blanched, "You can't be serious! Detective, it's been ten years without-."

"Then it's a copycat," she said sharply, rising to her feet. "Or this is the real thing."

Sally heard everything, standing just outside the ring of people standing around her sister's body. Her wings wilted into her back and her face remained stoic, aside from a quivering lip.

"Somebody get me that file," Angela barked, pushing away from the corpse, "There's someone I need to talk to- oh!" She stopped short, seeing Sally standing in front of her. With Angela's recognition came Sally's visibility.

"Hey, you!" an officer barked, grabbing her by the arm. "How'd you get here? You can't be back here-!" Sally shrugged him, off giving him a cool glare.

Angela stepped forward, putting out a hand between the two. "It's alright, Briggs, she's with me." Then she put a hand on Sally's shoulder, "Come on, Sally, I'm going to need your help on this one."

The two steered away, standing near the water's edge. "It's him, isn't it?" Angela said after a moment. "The Arachnid, right?" Sally gave no reply and Angela continued, "You wouldn't be here if it wasn't."

"I wouldn't be here," Sally corrected, turning her head, "if that wasn't my sister lying under that sheet."

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